Space Cowboy


Space Cowboy

The kiss of life is often sweet,
From death’s black hands we soon retreat,
Of dawns and dust we are replete,
But in the realm where kingdoms meet,
One might glimpse him on his seat,
As angels dance about his feet,
What he has said, we can’t delete,
What you have learned, they won’t repeat,
Some might think there is no God,
As his divulgence is discreet,

Ecstasy, a neurotransmission,
So we might come to our fruition,
As regards the past, and our tradition,
Disregarding admonition,
Much averse to intuition,
Settling more for repetition,
Sure to give a skewed rendition,
To which there’s made a deep incision;
Some profess that men made God,
And back their claims with erudition,

Folks maintained from elder days
Our brain was shown too many rays,
The golds infringed upon the grays
And offered up too many ways
To ransom love’s eternal blaze
For audiences and praise,
Deceived by self important haze,
A fog of death beneath his gaze,
Some might guess that God is not,
But I have heard by ear he plays,

“Yippie yi o ki yaihe, pal,
Yippie yi o ki yaihe…”

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